


Cold as Winter

by WaitingxInxSilence



Category: Strange Magic - Fandom
Genre: After Movie, F/M, Migration, hibernation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3502478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingxInxSilence/pseuds/WaitingxInxSilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unprepared for Winter, the fairies need to decide whether to hibernate underground or migrate south, but either decision could change the course of the princesses' new relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Winter came early to the fairy kingdom this year, and with it came the rush of preparations for spring. With cold weather setting in, the court had days to decide whether to stay and hibernate in the Fairy Kingdom or migrate south to warmer climate. Between the council butting heads and the cold-induced drowsiness, nothing had been accomplished in the four days Marianne and her younger sister Dawn had been attending the political conference.

“The scouts reported frost on the northern boarder this morning and still nothing has been done. At this rate, we'll all freeze at this table.”

An obvious exaggeration, but Marianne couldn't help agreeing with the adviser. Traditionally, each member of the council needed to reach a consensus before implementing a new plan, but tradition left most problems unsolved and everyone more frustrated than before.

Marianne exhaled through her teeth, “Can't we just vote on it?” She knew she was about to be lectured as soon as the words left her mouth.

Her father made little show of patience, “And should we disagree, what then? Do we ignore the wants of the few because it's convenient? As rulers, it is our duty to listen and understand the opinions of our subjects before moving forward. If we had just decided to hibernate at the start without regard to those in favor of migration, we'd be inviting insubordination.”

“Better than than freeze to death! And if we started preparations four days ago, we could have been done by now instead of staring at each other waiting for everyone else to give in. Not everyone's going to be happy but at least they won't be dead.”

A loud rap on the door interrupted what would have been a very lengthy, very public tongue-lashing. “Your majesty, terrible news; the tunnels to the hibernatory den have collapsed.”

“Roland!” Marianne didn't realize she was standing until Dawn placed a hand on her flared wings.

“That's great news!” Dawn exclaimed, “If no one's hurt, that is.”

“Nah. I saved like, twenty people,” he twirled his hair around a finger. “Thirty! If you count elves.”

Red bloomed across Dawn's chest as her temper flared. “And why wouldn't we count elves as people?”

The king laughed uncomfortably. “We always count elves as people-- they pay taxes.”

“Taxes!?”

“Best dig out the den immediately. I'll need an army.”

“You are not getting an army.”

The fairy king waved his hand, “Granted.”

“I'll need at least twenty, no, forty people!”

Dawn crossed her arms over her chest, “Are you sure it's forty, or are we not counting elves?”

“Again with the elves!”

“Yes, again with the elves,” Marianne shouted, “and how come you have no problem wasting four days arguing over where to take a stupid nap, but twirly bangs over here asks for an army and you just give it to him? Winter means life or death and pixie dust for brains wants to play in the dirt!”

“Oh my Marianne, you don't know how that hurts me.”

Roland's brow arched the way he often did just before he started singing. Marianne brandished the chair she'd been sitting on, pointing the legs in his smug face. “Not another word.”

“Don't believe the face you see, it's only the face of my pride. I'm not made of steeeeeeeeeeeeel~! I'm not made of stooooooooone~!”

The fairy king sighed, “He's such a romantic!”

Marianne swung. The chair leg splintered against Roland's nose. Blood spurted across the table, and by metallic clattering sound from the other side of the room, Marianne was certain her father fainted. “Either migrate to the Elven Glen or bunker down in the Dark Forest. You figure it out.” Marianne stormed out of the great hall and through the west wing, ignoring the strained gurgling of Roland's song.

Marianne didn't relax until she was in her chambers and alone with her pixies. Relations between the Fairy Kingdom and Dark Forest were steadily improving, but it would take a miracle to convince the court to ask Bog for a favor, let alone spend the winter with goblins. But at least they'd feel like they had a choice. Besides, a miracle was something Marianne didn't have, not with Roland redoubling his efforts to snare a princess before the late spring mating season. Knowing she'd be forced to deal with his persistence all winter if she joined the others for the great migration, Marianne laced her boots and looked to the one place he wouldn't dare follow-- the Dark Forest.

“Marianne?” Dawn curled her fingers around the bedroom door as though it were a shield, “Everyone's heading out for the glen in the morning.”

Marianne quickly checked her teeth in the vanity before stepping to the windowsill, “Don't wait up.”

“Marianne! Don't!”

She spread her wings and readied to jump, “I think I've earned a little alone time.”

“Marianne!”

Marianne launched from the edge and plummeted.


	2. Chapter 2

Marianne felt her stomach lurch upward as she fell. Her back slammed against the stone tower as she jerked to a halt, upside down and suspended in midair. Dawn caught her by the ankles, leaving Marianne to dangle like a windless sail.  
“Marianne!”  
Squinting against the sun, Marianne barely made out Sunny down below.  
“Sunny!” Dawn exclaimed, nearly dropping her sister.  
“Don't move-- I'll go get help.”  
“No, Sunny, no!” Marianne reached out her hands as though she could physically stop him, “We've got this completely under control.” It was a shameless lie, but it's harder to read a poker-face that's upside down and pooling with blood. She'd be mortified if her father sent Roland and his new army to help her down.  
“We do?”  
“We do.”  
Dawn's grip tighten as she reiterated the sentiment, “We do. We've got this. We've got this.” With each repetition, she tried to convince herself more than her favored suitor.  
Marianne surveyed her surroundings, “Dawn, I'm going to need you to swing me towards those flowers. Then on three, let go.” She didn't move. “Dawn, you can do this. You got this.” The sisters started to sway. “You got this.”  
“I got this.”  
“Dawn, be careful!”  
“You've got this.”  
“I've got this!”  
“You can do this, you're a rock star.”  
“I don't wanna be a rock star. Can I be a pop star?”  
Marianne tightened her lips, but now wasn't the time for a fight. “You're a pop star!”  
“I'm a pop star and I can do anything!”  
“One.”  
Sunny covered his eyes, “I can't watch.”  
“I got this.”  
“Two...” The daisies were only an arm's length away.  
“I so got this.”  
“Three!” Marianne catapulted through the flower bed face first. Skittering across the eye of a daisy, Marianne dug her nails into the plant to slow her descent. Holding tightly, she used her weight to bend the flower to the side until she could grab hold of another stem and slide down to safety. Feet firmly on the ground, she flexed her fingers to distract from the sting friction left behind.  
A junior guard let himself in her room, forgetting to knock and late as usual. “Your Highness, I... I thought I heard shouting.”  
Dawn made a heart with her fingers to signal Sunny before acknowledging him, “I'm a pop star and Marianne forgot it's too cold to fly. Nothing we couldn't handle.”  
“Oh. Right. Carry on then.”  
As soon as she had a clear view of the bedroom window, Marianne waved goodbye to her sister and set out for the Dark Forest.

It wasn't even noon when Marianne reached her first road block. Reaching the Dark Forest was simple, but everything looked different from the ground. The thick canopy blocked out the sun, and what little light she could see by spilled in from the Fairy Kingdom or radiated from nearby insects and fungus. Through the bramble, she spied a line of mushrooms stretching into the dark. Relief warmed her chest. Those toadstools were her fungal yellow brick road to Bog. Spirits rising, Marianne raced toward the trail, carelessly clotheslined herself on a broken branch and slipped backward into icy muck.

Marianne snarled at a familiar tittering sound, and picked herself up from the sludge She tried to wipe the mess from her eyes, but her hands were just as filthy. She pealed off her gauntlet and dried her face with the underside. Something warm slithered across her neck, and Marianne swatted blindly, narrowly missing the opossum-faced imp. The branch he hung from was out of reach, but it was possible the imp would help.  
“Hey, little... guy. Would you do me a big, big favor and bend that branch my way?” She plastered on one of her better smiles. It replied by tilting its ears and chattering in shrill clicking sounds. Marianne squinted at the animal. It seemed intelligent, but she wouldn't exactly trust it. She pointed to the end of the branch. “That. To me. You bring.” It skittered closer to the thinner end of the branch and squeaked.  
The mushrooms whispered, “Marianne is trapped in the mud.”  
“No, I'm not!”  
The fungus continued their game of telephone.  
Marianne stretched closer to the branch, more determined to free herself and cut the embarrassing telegram short. She made eye contact with the imp as it and the branch inched closer. She strained her fingers and grazed the side of the bowed limb.  
Just as freedom was in reach, the imp snatched her muddied glove and skittered off.

Thang and Stuff scampered through the fortress corridor, reciting the mushrooms' message to each other, further butchering it along the way. With the throne room in sight, it was easy to see their king was in a foul mood. His temper had been especially mild after earning the princess' affections, but time apart and the simmering tension of traditionalists soured the overall mood of the Dark Forest.  
Thang scuttled to a stop before the king. “Sire, news from the mushroom line... Stuff will tell you.”  
The bog king massaged his temple, aware of the nonsense to come.  
“I will?”  
“You say things better.”  
“You mean I speak better.”  
“Yes, that. That's why you'll tell him.”  
“Good point,” Stuff cleared his throat until he ended coughing, “My liege, A hairy man” He paused for effect, “is rapt with a spud!”  
“What?” Bog felt another headache creeping up the back of his skull. His mind whirred, struggling to piece together what the original text could have been.  
“No, no, no,” Thang shoved her partner, “It's, 'Caravan has snacked on crud.'”  
“No, I distinctly remember 'spud.' There should be a spud somewhere in there.” Stuff's face contorted in thought, “Could it have been, 'Caravan has snacked on a spud'?”  
“That's not even news. Why would the mushrooms report that?”  
“Because sharing... is caring?”  
“No, because that's not what they said! 'Caravan has snacked on crud.' That's news.” She looked to her master, “These caravan-folk are disgusting. I wouldn't trust them. Who eats crud before eating people?”  
“Maybe they ran out of people.”  
“Then it wouldn't be a caravan, would it?”  
“I meant,” Stuff returned the shove, “maybe they ran out of people to eat. No one wants to eat the sickies.”  
“Well, if you're starving you would.” Their pushing quickly grew more aggressive.  
“Not if they're eating crud!”  
“But if you're starving!” The argument dissolved and the pair wrestled each other to the floor.”  
Bog struck his staff against the floor and rose. The sound echoed throughout the fortress. “Enough!”  
“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”  
“Won't happen again, sir.”

  
“Bog Misery King! What is this racket?” Bog shrunk from the shrill noise. Nothing had warned him of his mother's approach.  
“What have I told you about sneaking up on people?” He whispered hoarsely.  
“Oh, now you're quiet. There's no need for all the yelling and the shouting and the growling.”  
“I wasn't growling, mother.”  
“I might've growled a little bit,” Thang mumbled.  
“You were growling. I know I heard growling. Don't lie to me. If you're going to growl, do it outside.”  
“I was leaving anyway. Something about a caravan or a hairy man.” The only way to tell what was going on was to address the source mushroom directly. Unfortunately, there were thousands of mushrooms in the Dark Forest, and thousands of potential sources.  
Clasping her tiny hands to her chest, Griselda gasped excitedly, “Or a Marianne!”  
Bog's wings fluttered to life at the sound of her name. Marianne. It made sense. More sense than cannibalistic caravans or amorous men and potatoes.  
“Go! Go! Oh, and you should ask her how Roland is doing.”  
The color that had risen up to his cheeks paled, “What?”  
“Roland! The fairy with the hair and the eyebrows... Oh, and those eyebrows! He does have nice eyebrows. And what girl wouldn't love those brilliant white teeth--”  
Thang nodded, “He does have nice teeth.”  
Bog unconsciously flicked his tongue across the back of his teeth, “I know who he is, and I am not asking how he's doing!” He didn't need anyone to tell him how his teeth looked. Growing up, he had been the only boy growing an exoskeleton and he hated his self for it. Still teething, he gnawed the hardening bits of skin until his teeth bent and broke. His adult teeth grew in one at a time, but shifted to fit between the skewed set, and he bit harder to ignore the pain. He shed his skin every few years, but his dentition remained the same. He suppressed his smiles since then, and though Griselda hoped to cheer him by telling Bog he had his father's smile, the similarities stopped at the gums.  
“Then at least ask if he's single.”  
“Ask if he's...” A fog drifted over Bog's mind and blurred his thoughts. Surely he misheard her.  
“If he's _single_!”  
He would not be calling that man father.  
“I have a few ladies in mind for him. One's a mosquito, but I think they could work around that.”  
Bog pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just like they're going to get around trying to raze the forest?”  
“Everybody needs love, Bog, now get a move on. Standing here yapping when there's a lady out there looking for you.”  
Bog didn't bother to say it was her who had been keeping him. Remembering the uncomfortable frustration from when his mother bombarded him with romantic prospects, he knew nothing could drive a bachelor away from the Dark Forest like a mom on a mission.


	3. Chapter 3

Bog weaved through the trees of the Dark Forest, scanning the frosted terrain for anything out of the ordinary, but found nothing of note. Due to the coming of the cold season, most of his subjects were holed up in their homes underground, leaving little of note above the surface. With the majority of his people curled up by the hearths for warmth, it forced them to stay out of trouble, making Winter not only the most quiet season, but Bog's most favored season as well. He shot up to the canopy for a wider view. Even with his trained vision, the only movements he could discern were from wafts of smoke rising from the hidden fires and crusted foliage tumbling in the breeze. He breathed deep.

He could smell her.

_Marianne._

He dove.

Marianne could feel the sludge freezing around her thighs. Shivers traced up the inside of her legs to the base of her skull. She tried to be glad that the numbness was creeping up her waist. If she was numb, she wouldn't hurt. Marianne had tried living like that before, but a larger, wiser part of her knew she couldn't relax into that calm, that her body was already shutting down in the cold. The whole thing felt like a poetically twisted way to die.

Something was moving in the distance. Something fast. Marianne could hear the leaves crack and rustle, as though someone loosed an arrow too close to the ground. Judging by the volume, it was getting closer. Marianne steeled herself for the confrontation. She managed to win over most of the goblins she'd encountered, and the ones she couldn't knew to stay scarce, but their were creatures in the Forest unlike the goblin-folk. Creatures without reason. Without language. Without law. Although she had only visited the Dark Forest a few times since proclaiming her love for its King, she new well enough that in the Dark Forest, if it moves-- it eats, and the still things were tricky too.

“Marianne?”

Her whole body relaxed at the voice she'd know anywhere, “Bog!” Marianne couldn't recognize her voice. Her throat had grown tight and dry in the cold, hurting her to speak, but she pressed on, “How are you?”

Marianne was a sight. His fairy princess was always a sight, but now she was caked in mud and decaying debris. Her wings were bent in an unnatural position, and he saw how she struggled to stand upright. Her pallor suggested hypothermia, but her caustic wit remained. He stabbed the point of his staff into the sludge by her knees, breaking the frozen layer on top, wrapped his arms beneath her arms, and flew straight up. With a _shlurp_ , the mud swallowed her boots as Bog carried her out of the sludge pit.

“Would you believe me if I said I was there on purpose?”

Bog cradled her closer, offering what little warmth he could through his armored exoskeleton, and headed straight for the keep. Marianne shivered, all too aware of her thick coat of filth and tried to pull her thoughts from wondering how horrid she must smell. She looked up at his unsmiling face as he darted between the low hanging branches of the forest. He hadn't said a word to her since he realized the muck-covered creature was her. Marianne could've kicked herself if she still had any feeling from the waist down. She tried to flex her toes, but couldn't perceive any change, either because her feet were frozen stiff or the thick layer of mud hid the movement.

This was not how she envisioned their reunion. She'd have met Bog right outside the castle, as he would have just been leaving to visit her. They'd laugh about the coincidence, and when she told him about the winter migration, Bog would urge her to stay. She'd be uncertain at first, but soon concede it was the wiser decision. They'd bunker down somewhere warm enough that Marianne could stay awake, but most of their time would be spent coupled together in bed for warmth. He'd insist as much, but she'd be forced to consider what her father would say and how it might impact the new found peace between their kingdoms. But as it was for her own safety, she'd relent. For safety. No one could fault her for that.

Bog didn't land until the first few batches of water he ordered were warming by the kitchen fire, “Can you stand on your own?”

Marianne tested her legs, stretching them to the floor. She clenched her jaw and tried to hide her unease. She stumbled when she took on her full weight and hoped her weakness went unseen. She widened her stance for stability. She was awkward and sore, but she was standing. Marianne glanced down and grimaced at the muddy footprints she left behind on the polished floor.

Bog cradled her face between his hands, guiding her to look back to him. He rested his forehead against hers, sighed, “You're going to be the death of me.” Standing back to his full height, Marianne grimaced at the dirty smudge the gesture left on his brow. The king touched his fingers to his face and laughed when he felt the grime. Marianne chortled with him, feeling childish for laughing over something so small. She leaned back into him, purposefully dirtying Bog further.

His mother stormed into the kitchen. “Is it too much to tell your poor mother when you get home any more? I didn't raise you to--” The pair stiffened in embarrassment. Griselda's jaw slacked, “You two fools are filthy!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griselda and Marianne bond.

Griselda shooed her son out of the room. “This is the _ladies_ shower room, and it is _occupied_. Go on, get. Don't you have king stuff to do?” She closed the door behind him and smiled slyly, “I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?”

 

Marianne stood straight, trying to appear as regal as possible despite the circumstances, “Oh, no! Nothing. He was a perfect gentleman.”

 

Griselda groaned, “Ack! What is wrong with that boy? I don't know where he gets it from-- definitely not from me, I'll tell you that. Or his father, come to think of it. Now that man didn't waste time, that's for sure.”

 

Marianne strained a smile.

 

“But that's another thing. What's gotten into you? A mud bath in winter is bad enough, but alone? Tell me you weren't alone.”

 

“I wasn't alone... on purpose.”

 

Griselda fussed over her, prodding and peeling at her dried on clothes, “Sorry, dear, but there's not going to be much left of these to save. Bathing with your clothes on, you should know better.”

 

Marianne could feel her eyes water from the humiliation and the grit in her eyes. “I...” she heard her voice waver and swalloed back the sound. She was not going to cry. She would not cry. “It was an accident.”

 

Her would-be mother sighed loudly, “Well, that's a relief!”

 

“A relief? A relief that I fell face-first in a pit of sludge and--” _and Bog saw me like this and now the whole Dark Forest knows?_

 

“Yes! For the longest time, young girls would throw themselves in and get themselves killed. Bog mud's good for the skin, you know. But of course, none of them told anyone where they were going because they didn't want to admit they needed it, so they'd end up drowning or getting stuck until they starved or froze or something. Not everyone can be a looker like me.”

 

Marianne's clothes were now in a goopy brown pile at her feet. She couldn't remember being naked around anyone since she could be trusted not to eat soap. The goblin woman rummaged about through the cabinet, pulled out a rag and an odd black lump, and dropped them into Marianne's hand, unfazed by her guest's nudity. But then, Marianne thought, why would she? From what she had seen on her previous visits, Griselda was the only goblin who bothered with clothes.

 

Once she was out of splashing distance, Marianne upended the first bucket over herself, eyes shut tight as the warm water washed over her and trickled through the drain. Figuring the black lump to be soap, Marianne dunked her rag in the clean water and lathered it up, hoping that by focusing on the task at hand, she'd forget her anxiety over not being alone.

 

Griselda's lips pursed, sensing her discomfort. “As a warm-blooded thing, I suppose you'll be needing some clothes.”

 

Marianne clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering, “Yes, please.”

 

“I'd offer you mine, but,” The small queen gestured at their heights. Marianne smiled despite herself. “Most folks here don't bother dressing unless there's some sort of special occasion. Too hard to keep clean, they say, but don't you worry, I'll come up with something.”

 

Marianne watched as she waddled away and rubbed the warm wash cloth between her hands. She couldn't remember much of her mother, but Marianne thought she might have been like Griselda. Naked and alone, she laughed to herself, imagining her father paired with a crafty fairy as stubborn as Griselda.

 

 

Griselda burst in the room, waving a bundle of blue fabric victoriously, “I found something! It's bound to be a bit large, but it'll do.”

 

Marianne made a conscious effort to stand properly, but still hid her body with her still-damp wings. Part of her knew she had nothing of interest to Griselda, let alone the rest of the goblin kin, but it could take years to recondition herself out of her old habits. Griselda held the garment up by the shoulders, leaving the rest to trail on the ground. Marianne pulled it up to her height; it was a deep blue sleeveless robe with faintly shimmering embroidery lining the edges. “Griselda, I... this looks too important, I couldn't possibly.”

 

“Of 'course you can, dear. Try it on! Try it on! Please! Who else would it fit?”

 

Marianne bit her lip and slid her arms through the oversized armholes. Shifting to let the back collar drape under the base of her wings, the neckline rose almost high enough to meet proper fairy court standards.

 

Griselda sighed, clasping her hands to her heart, “Gorgeous! Absolutely gorgeous! It's like it was meant for you.” _With her scheming, it probably was._ “Perfect for one last to-do before heading south, am I right?”

 

Despite Griselda's encouragement, Marianne didn't need a mirror to know how she looked. Wings damp, hair knotted, and bone tired, Marianne had the look of the risen dead-- only now well-dressed. Confidence sapped, she fiddled with the robe's buttons instead of meeting Griselda's eye. “Actually, I came to ask... well, I was hoping... I was wondering-- that is, if you don't mind...” _Good gods, spit it out already!_ “Would it be at all possible if I could stay here? For the winter, I mean.”

 

Griselda lit up and let out a screeching sound that Marianne figured must be the the goblin equivalent to a squeal. “Of course you can stay here!” She grabbed Marianne by the hand and ushered her deeper into the fortress, “My Bog will be so pleased! I suppose you'll need a room to sleep in, but no worries, I know just the one.”

 

She led the princess to a chamber with tall, ornate doors. Heavy as they looked, they swung open easily. The smell hit her before she could make out the shapes in the darkness. The scent of mulled cider and fresh earth.

These were Bog's chambers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bog and Marianne finally get some alone time.

Marianne started as the door closed behind her. She was alone. In Bog's room. Her toes curled in the peat floor. Griselda was clearly up to something, but she was done playing along. Marianne turned on her heel. No way was she going to be caught alone in the king's personal chambers. If Goblin culture and Fairy culture were anything alike, it wouldn't do for anyone to think she was trying to trap him in a marriage to save her public image. But then, she thought, fingers loose on the door handle, would that really be so bad? And if she did spend the winter in his kingdom, wouldn't people already assume the worst?

The door swung out without warning, sending Marianne stumbling straight into Bog. She tripped, trying to right herself with her wings still damp and tangled in the borrowed robe.

“Hi! Sorry! I was-- I was just...” She swallowed, collecting her scattered thoughts. It was so much easier to talk to a man when she wanted to tear his throat out. “I was just leaving. If anyone knew I'd been in here, they might start...” Bog's brow furrowed, his head tilted somewhere between amusement and befuddlement. “That is, I mean... if I was in your room, while you were in your room, people might think we were... that we were having, um...” Red-faced, Marianne made a series of frantic, crude gestures. “You know.”

“Actually,” He bent to her, tracing the pulsing vein on her throat with the back of his claws. “I'm afraid I don't.” Bog hid his smirk in the nape of her neck, unable to feign a straight face. Bog could feel the beat of her heart jumpstart under his fingers.

Her breath was shallow. “They might think we were... that we...” Marianne glanced down the hallway and saw Brutus shuffling down an otherwise empty corridor. If they were any louder, surely he would turn around and--

“Were doing something like this?” Bog slipped his hand through her robe's overlarge arm holes, his long fingers trailing up her bare side.

Electricity shot through his fingers to the tips of her toes. Suddenly breathless, Marianne dared to glance back at Brutus, willing him to walk away faster. Voice tight and unusually high, she answered. “Yes.”

“Hmm...” Marianne could feel the vibrations of his voice through her skin. “What else might these people think we were doing, Tough Girl?”

“They might...” She swallowed, her mouth quickly growing dry, struck speechless at the realization that he was waiting for orders, “think we were kissing.”

“Excellent conjecture, if a bit vague. Kissing... here?” Bog pressed his lips to her shoulder, and her clavicle in turn. “Here?”

Marianne's breath caught, “There is good.”

“The how about...” He placed a peck on her nose, “here?”

“No.”

“No?” He kissed her scrunched nose again, “Nothing?”

“Definitely not,” she grinned.

“You sure?” Bog peppered the bridge of her nose with kisses.

Marianne snorted, “I'm sure.”

Brushing the hair from the nape of her neck, Bog pressed his lips against the thundering vein, “Then perhaps here.”

Marianne's laughter died abruptly as Bog carried her to bed, “That's... fine.”

Marianne rose to her knees on the mushroom bed, wrapping her arms around Bog's neck to pull him down to her level, “I spoke to your mother today.”

He buried his face in her neck, taking advantage of the position to loosen the ties of her robe, “Forgive me if I don't want to speak of my mother right now.”

“She said that I could stay with for the winter, if that's alright with you.”

“That's more than alright with me.”

Marianne relaxed into his shoulder as he massaged the space between her wings. “Mmm...”

“Marianne?”

She sighed against him.

“Mari--”

A soft snore echoed through the bed chamber. A deep laugh rumbled in the back of the Bog King's throat. “Good night, Tough Girl.” He laid her down on the bed, climbing in next to his fairy princess. It had been a long night for both of them, they would have all winter for scandal.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [My December](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686610) by [ErisNuiLadyFall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErisNuiLadyFall/pseuds/ErisNuiLadyFall)




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